The Great White Dragon is rarely seen. Nobody knows where he slumbers, but they do know his cave is on one of the highest peaks in the world. Only few stories have made it to be Known about across the lands. Few ever made it back to there home villages to tell the story.

The camp was eerily quiet this evening. The fire itself seemed nervous enough not to crackle; the wind seemed too scared to whistle. These treks into the Blade Peaks always worry me, what am I doing here? I find myself asking that very questions even during the day time now, not just during the night. Tales of rangers heading into the peaks and not returning were always common, what worries me is that myself and the group of rangers are heading into these blasted mountains in search for one such group. How my life would be much better had I not learned the truth. The Oricks are here, small brutish little bastards for true, but ruthless and uncaring. I just want to return home. Wait, a sound in the darkness. A scrap? A grunt? oh no they are here!

Crystal Hornets are heard long before they are seen. Their humming is like the beautiful sound of a violin that is being played by a master musician,and to those who have encountered them before, it acts as a warning.

They come in the night, and they take things. Nothing neccesary. Maybe they’ll take some candle wax, mabe a few sticks, a curtain, anything. But guard all your possesions boy, because if you don’t, they’ll come down on you like a hellbeast in one of their damned machines.

Deep in the mountains, beyond where the trails end, one can find collossal stairways and long, cliffside roads, massive arched bridges and huge vaulted tunnels, spanning thousands of miles. These roads, though seemingly deserted, are closely watched by their creators, the reclusive and strange Iothun (“yoh-thoon”).

Ru-Men are an old race who dwell throughout the area encompassed by the Hundred, but are most plentiful in their traditional homeland on the Andraverly Mountains on the west coast of the Heavy Sea (northward of Peklichr). They live in small “nests” of 10-20 individuals which generally lie in the mountains or cliffs. Many call them the Crow Men or the Jackdaw Men, while others refer to them as the Black Mountain Bastards.

It is interesting to realize that in the scheme of the world we are but one oddity. But we are an oddity that the humans and other smaller pitiful races take for the corrupted races of Sethalis. That we are not. I would say they hate us for our superior mentality and superior quality weaponry. As is with all children who can’t have what is out of their reach.

The wait shall be over soon infidel. Soon we shall come from our darkened homes and sally forth on the Plains of Redemption and wipe the blight of our anscestors from our history. Our counsins will tremble at our approach, the humans will run from our strength and the Gison will board themselves in the mountain citadels giving the land beneth them to us. Oh yes, weakling. We are coming.

The children of stone care little for the others who are not of our kind. Ours is a kinship with the world around us, while the others destroy and pollute. It will be only a matter of time before the world itself fights back against those atrocities. Before the mother world rights herself. I feel no pity for them, only outrage.

When the great ice-sheets covered the north, life retreated before them, but some species stayed and endured. Whilst man huddled around fires in his caves, mighty beasts roamed the tundra: the Woolly Mammoth, the Woolly Rhinoceros…and the Woolly Wyvern.

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village of the damned. A village of people that have been 'raised', from death by priests, too many times. At first glance the folk appear as any other, but upon closer examination, they are pale, drawn, and tired...